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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472995">A Little More Conversation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto'>toyhto</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of talking, But in a smutty way, Is that even an adjective, M/M, Pre-Canon, i don't know what to say</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:49:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,997</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25472995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur meets a stranger over his hotel room balcony. And then they talk.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Little More Conversation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So hmm yeah this happened. Written to a prompt <i>We met over our hotel room balconies and made an instant connection AU</i> on <a href="https://dailyau.tumblr.com/post/624448097322467328/we-met-over-our-hotel-room-balconies-and-made-an">Daily AU Prompts</a>. This is basically our boys meeting for the first time and having a pleasant conversation.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arthur took a taxi to the hotel and reminded himself that he was an excellent point man, an aspiring criminal, and that he had most of his neuroses under control these days. There was no reason to feel like he had got hit by the train, even though he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>got hit by the train, because Dom had built a trailway in the middle of the dream and hadn’t bothered to inform him. Later, Dom had made Mal apologize to him, because Dom fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> Arthur couldn’t stay angry at Mal. And Arthur wanted to be angry. He was just too tired, because he hadn’t slept a proper night in three weeks, which probably was why everything was so overwhelming right now, and not in a good way.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He locked the door to his hotel room, checked his gun, and then ate half of a chocolate bar. There was a huge bed in the room with a perfect mattress on which he had tossed from side to side four or five hours last night, before he had finally fallen asleep a little before the dawn. He took a deep breath and stared at the bed. He had had problems with insomnia ever since he had started in dreamshare, but it was getting worse. Last time that he had seen his mother, she had glanced at him twice and asked if he was using drugs. And he had been so sleep-deprived that he had said ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes but only Somnacin’.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Right now, he was so tired he could hardly stand on his feet. He thought about going to bed and then about the slow torture of lying there, not able to fall asleep, thinking about everything work-related </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>personal that could go wrong.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He poured himself a glass of scotch and went to the balcony.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>At least the view was great. He watched the buildings with light in their windows and told himself that there were a million people in this city who, like him, weren’t sleeping. Then he turned to the right.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There was a man on the next balcony, and he was looking at Arthur.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur quickly pulled his gaze away. The city looked great. He looked at it for a few seconds more, and then he turned and started retreating back into the room. Maybe he could make it look like he had gotten tired of watching the scenery and was coolly and calmly going back to his hotel room, and not like he had seen a stranger on the next balcony and panicked.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hello,” said the stranger on the next balcony.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur froze. Shit, he was going to have to do small talk. He was too tired for small talk.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He turned slowly to the man. “Hi.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Did you get cold?” the man asked. He sounded amused. And British. And like he wasn’t going to let Arthur disappear after a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘nice weather’ ‘yeah it is’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Arthur said. He was still wearing his suit and the night was actually quite warm. He took a deep breath. “I’m just not in a mood for small talk.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good to know,” the man said. “We can skip small talk then. What’s your name?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur stared at him. He could just fuck off, go to his room and close the door, and the man on the next balcony could do nothing about it. It didn’t matter. They would never meet again. The man didn’t even know his name.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But then again, he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon. And he kind of had a thing for British accent. It was an unfortunate result of an unfortunate case of having been excited about British royal family when he had been a teenager.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“My name’s Arthur,” he said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m Eames,” the man said, smiling. His teeth were a little crooked, and he licked his lower lip when Arthur was still staring at his mouth. “I’m sorry if this is a bit forward,” Eames said, “but are you alright, darling?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m not using drugs,” Arthur said and then bit his lit. God, he was tired.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m glad to hear,” Eames said. “I had a tiny problem with cocaine when I was younger. I wouldn’t recommend that. What’re you drinking?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur looked at his hand. He was holding the glass of scotch. “Scotch.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Nice,” Eames said. “I’m going to get a glass for myself. Wait there.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur watched as Eames disappeared inside. So, he was standing on the balcony of his hotel room, drinking scotch, because a strange man with bad teeth and a lovely accent had told him to wait. He should probably go inside, lock the door and try to get some sleep. Or he could read for a while. He had brought with him a paperback about two fishermen living alone in an abandoned lighthouse, and it had turned out slightly pornographic.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He took a sip of his glass. The scotch was fine.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Great, you’re still here,” Eames said, appearing back on the balcony but with a glass of something in his hand. “I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe I’m not your type after all. My gaydar used to be perfect, but now it’s happened twice in a month that I’ve tried to hit on a straight guy. I don’t know how that happened. Maybe it’s something they’ve been watching on television. Anyway, I'm glad you’re still here.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur thought about it for a moment. Then he drank more of his scotch. “Are you trying to hit on me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I haven’t decided yet,” Eames said, coming to lean against the railing. “But if you’re gay, definitely.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur opened his mouth.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Or bi,” Eames added and then frowned, “or actually, I don’t give a damn about your orientation, if you’re interested. I’m not a big fan of labels, anyway.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, me neither,” Arthur said. “I’m gay.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Great,” Eames said and smiled widely. God, his teeth. Arthur wanted to kiss him. “So, it’s too bad these balconies have a railing.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And a gap of at least three feet between them.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Couldn’t you jump, though?” Eames asked. “You look athletic.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur tried not to smile. “We’re on the twenty-third floor. And you look like you’ve been going to gym so that you could impress guys with your biceps.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is it working?” Eames asked, sounding suddenly worried. Arthur couldn’t tell if he was faking it or not. Oh, god, he was good. “Because lately, I’ve been travelling a lot. I haven’t had time to worry about my looks.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I wouldn’t be too worried if I were you,” Arthur said. “So, what’re you looking for in a guy? Except that they’re straight.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, shut up, I said my gaydar used to be perfect. But, well, now that you happened to ask, how old are you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How old are you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good to know that you’re interested. I’m twenty-nine.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Twenty-four,” Arthur said and drank some of his scotch. It was mixing well with the sleep-deprivation.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I was afraid you might be younger,” Eames said, narrowing his eyes. “But now that I think of it, you have a kind of haunted look in your eyes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I haven’t been sleeping much.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really?” Eames asked, leaning against the railing. He sounded genuinely worried. “And why’s that?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Arthur said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sometimes it helps to talk about your problems.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sometimes it doesn’t.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fair enough,” Eames said. “So, what are </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>looking for in a guy?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You never answered that question.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, in case you hadn’t realized it yet, I’m definitely trying to hit on you now. So just look in the mirror and you’ll know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur bit his lip, hard. It was definitely too early in the relationship for him to show his dimples.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, god, you’ve got dimples,” Eames said. “I’m so glad you aren’t nineteen or something because otherwise I’d feel a bit weird about what I’m trying to accomplish here.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And what’s that, exactly?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m still working on the details.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur took a deep breath and then sat down on the balcony floor. It was a little cold but not uncomfortably so. And the railing was made of glass so he could still see the scenery. He could also see the way Eames looked at him. “Actually,” he said and closed his eyes for a moment, “I have a thing for British accent.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>When he opened his eyes again, Eames’ eyes drifted back to meet his. “Really,” Eames said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s your lucky day, then, because I like talking.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I can tell,” Arthur said. “And isn’t that good, because you’re on the next balcony and not here.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eames just stood there for a moment, rubbed his nose and then glanced around. Something like five balconies to the left, there was an old couple who were sharing a cigarette and pointing at the scenery.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Are you sure you can’t fly?” Eames asked and sat down on the floor, settled his back against the wall and took a sip of his glass.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Arthur said. What he could do instead was that he could go to his room, open the door, walk to Eames’ door - it had to be the next one - and knock. But he wasn’t going to do that. He was in the city because he was working. The job they were doing now was only slightly illegal, but he wouldn’t take any risks with strangers.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Also, he was quickly getting drunk. If he went to Eames’ room, there was no way he could keep his mind clear and his trousers on. And he wouldn’t want to.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You said you liked talking,” he said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, alright,” Eames said slowly.  “I heard you’ve got a thing for British accent. Did you realize it half an hour ago?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Arthur said. “I knew it before I met you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Damn,” Eames said. “Tell me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I had a crush on Prince Harry.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eames snorted. “You didn’t.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sure I did.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, darling,” Eames said, “it’s your lucky day. I’m much better. And there’s going to be much less hassle with the media if this thing between us turns serious.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur closed his eyes. He was probably smiling but he couldn’t stop. He emptied his glass of scotch and wished the bottle wasn’t so far away. But the night was very nice. Not too warm and not too cold. And he was glad he hadn’t changed clothes before he had come to the balcony and met Eames. He looked good in this suit. Even Dom had said so once.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You could tell me what you would like me to do,” Eames said, “if I was there.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“On my balcony,” Arthur said, keeping his eyes closed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Come on. You don’t look like someone with no imagination.” Eames paused. “Actually, you do. But don’t worry, you also look lovely.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Maybe you could tell me what you’d like to do to me, then.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t know if you’re old enough to hear it. You’re only twenty-four.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ve fucked men.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There was a short silence. He thought he could hear Eames breathing, but maybe it was the wind. Or the air-conditioning. This hotel had an excellent air-conditioning, which was great, because it wasn’t cheap.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well,” Eames said, “I’m glad to hear that my gaydar got it right for fucking once.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You said it used to be perfect.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ve always been an optimist. How do you like to fuck your men?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur bit his lip. “On my knees.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Now he definitely knew he heard Eames breathing. He waited for a while longer and then opened his eyes. Eames’ face was a little flushed. “Holy shit,” Eames said in a quiet voice. “Have you done this before?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Flirted with a guy on the next balcony? No.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is this flirting? Because I think I’m going to get off. Flirting doesn’t normally do that for me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Maybe you’ve been flirting wrong,” Arthur said and closed his eyes again. “So, didn’t you like my answer?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, I liked it,” Eames said immediately. “You like to do it on your knees. Alright. Care to elaborate?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m sure you can guess. Or is it your first time?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He heard Eames laughing. “No, no it’s not. So, you’re on our knees.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Facing what?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur thought about it. But he was tired. He’d let Eames do all the work. “Facing the floor. On my knees and elbows.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Arthur,” Eames said, “you don’t have a fucking clue what you look like.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, I do.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not like this. Not when we’re there, in your fancy hotel room, and you’re on that fancy big bed, on your knees and elbows. For me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur took a deep breath. “Am I naked yet?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes,” Eames said, “you’ve been naked right from the beginning. But I’m not.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ve still got your clothes on?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah. I’ve been busy undressing you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You've got me now,” Arthur said. “I’m here. I’m on my knees and I’m waiting.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, I need to ask. What exactly do you want? What do I need to know?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t think it matters right now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, it does.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He took a deep breath. “Okay. I don’t like pain.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright. Great, because I wouldn’t want to hurt you anyway. Anything else?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Nothing weird. Just, you know. The normal stuff.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“The normal stuff,” Eames said slowly. “Just so that we’re on the same page, does that mean you want me to fuck you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur breathed as calmly as he could. The seam in his boxers was dragging against the tip of his cock. “Yes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes, I want you to fuck me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good,” Eames said, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brilliant. It just happens that I want to fuck you too, darling. But I’m not going to rush it. Even though you look like you don’t have much patience.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t,” Arthur said in a voice that was supposed to be warning.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Too bad,” Eames said. “Now, here you are, naked. Can you lean down for me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m going to arrange you, then. Gently, of course. I’m going to put my hand on the back of your neck and gently push you down until you’ve got your face against the pillow.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And why -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And your arse in the air.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur bit his lip.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m kissing your back,”  Eames said. “I’ve still got my hand on your neck, but I’m kissing my way down your back. I bet you don’t have tattoos.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I do. Many. I’m afraid you’re going to laugh, so it’s good that I’ve got my clothes on for now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t understand why,” Arthur said, “since I’m naked here.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And on your knees and elbows for me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll take my clothes off later,” Eames said. “Now I’m kind of busy. I’m kissing the low of your back now, Arthur. Do you like it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You sound too composed.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t,” Arthur said. He didn’t feel composed. He felt like he was going to smash the glass in his hands by squeezing it too hard, and just to keep his hands away from his dick. If he let go, he would open his zipper and push his hand right into his boxers.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright,” Eames said, “I just hope you’re enjoying this. Because what I’m doing now is that I’m grabbing your cheeks and I’m holding them and licking my way down there.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Down -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Can’t you say it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eames was quiet for a few seconds. “Your arsehole. I’m trying to lick your arsehole, if you can let me get back to it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Forgive me for wanting a little specificity.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll show you where you can put your specificity,” Eames said, but he sounded like he was smiling. “You like it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I have lube.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You do? What a miracle.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“For a naked man who’s on the mattress with his arse up in the air, you’re very talkative. Good for me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t think your fantasy is very creative.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s not a fantasy,” Eames said, “it’s a plan. Stop wriggling.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m not -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sure you are once I get my finger in your arse.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur bit his lip a bit too hard and pressed the back of his head against the wall. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fucking hell.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “I’ll stay still.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good,” Eames said. “You’re being very good. Just like I thought you’d be. Now, do you think you could take two?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’ll go slow.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I can take it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You don’t know what you can take,” Eames said, “but we’ll see. Is your cock hard yet?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes,” Arthur said. It was.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Great. Touch yourself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur breathed in and out. He tried to focus on the sounds of the traffics, or on the cool breeze on his face, or the fact that he was sitting on the balcony of his hotel room. Nothing helped.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just do it,” Eames said in a gentle voice.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur opened his zipper. His hands were shaking. He pushed his hand into his boxers and wrapped his fingers around his cock.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I want to see,” Eames said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur snorted.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Arthur,” Eames said just a little louder, “I want to see. Let me see.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“We’re on the -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I know. Let me see your cock.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur opened his eyes. Eames was staring at his crotch. He was hard, too, but it seemed that he hadn't been touching himself yet.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Eames said, as Arthur tugged his boxers down just enough that he could feel the cool night air on his dick.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He closed his eyes again. “Now what?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Now,” Eames said and cleared his throat, “well, now you’ve got two of my fingers in your arse, if I remember right. And you’re touching yourself. But you can’t get off yet. Okay?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Because we’re doing this slowly.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur nodded. He tried to keep his grip light. His feet were slipping on the floor and he was already panting.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You look lovely, by the way.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Shut up and fuck me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright,” Eames said, “alright, I will. Just give me a moment, darling.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I need to get off.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>not yet.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Come on, breathe. Think about… whatever turns you off.” A pause. “But not too much off. I wouldn’t want you to -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eames -</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry. So, I’m going to push my thumb in there, too. Just to be sure that you can take it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If you’re just playing with me -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I am,” Eames said, “I’m definitely playing with you. So, now I’ve got my thumb in there too. You’re taking it very well. Do you think you could come from this? From my fingers alone?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Arthur said. He definitely could. “What’s your cock like?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well,” Eames said and paused for a second. “It’s a cock.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur laughed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m going to get it ready for you,” Eames said. “So I’m pulling my fingers off. Just stay there. Just… just stay there, on the bed, your face down, breathing like you’re going to come the fucking second that I finally get my cock in you. Just wait. I’m going to take my clothes off. And probably get a condom. And would you like some music? Because sometimes I like to listen to Beethoven when I’m fucking. Makes me feel like I’m a handsome rich guy with a big dick.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Eames,” Arthur said. He was going to either get himself off right now or stop it altogether.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You really look lovely,” Eames said and then shifted, Arthur could hear him. There was a sound of a zipper opening. “I’m taking my clothes off now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good,” Arthur said. The lights of the city flickered through his closed eyelids. He had absolutely no idea how much time had already passed.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Okay,” Eames said, “now I’m ready. Now we can -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Get your cock in my ass.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, that. Let me -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Right now, Eames.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eames breathed in sharply. “You’re bossy.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“When I know what I want. So, for how long it’s going to take?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m here,” Eames said. “I’ve been hard for a while. Obviously. So, I’m going to very slowly push my dick into your arsehole. Tell me if it hurts.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur laughed. “I’m not a virgin.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah, well, it’s a social construction anyway,” Eames said, but he was starting to sound almost as breathless as Arthur. “How do you want me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You can just fuck me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I was just asking for a little specificity.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Arthur said and let his thumb brush against the tip of cock. “Fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>me.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Come on, Eames, come on -”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You're lovely,” Eames said, “you don’t know how lovely you are, sitting there with legs sprawled and with your dick out, if you look anything like that when I’m fucking you, I think I’m going to come in seconds, there’s nothing I can do, you’re just so, I don’t know, have you seen your </span>
  <em>
    <span>face</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and your hands, Arthur, your hands are lovely, and your face is so fucking pink right now, I think you’re going to come, aren’t you, you’re going to come, and I’m fucking you, Arthur, you can come now, you can… </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh bloody fucking hell.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur opened his eyes just quickly enough to get to see Eames coming in his own hand. Then he had to close his eyes again because he was coming too, and if Eames was looking at him, he didn’t want to know. He let the pleasure go through him and kept his eyes closed and thought about Eames’ cock in his ass and the way Eames had had a hand on the back of his neck when all this had started.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Arthur,” Eames said in a breathless tone.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Arthur opened his eyes and looked at him. Eames had his face red and his dick out and he was breathing so hard Arthur could see his chest raising and falling. He had cum on his trousers and he looked very good, except that he had too many clothes on.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Five balconies away from them, the old couple were still sharing a cigarette but were now pointing at them instead of the scenery.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Arthur, your dick is out,” Eames said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Arthur said. “You were very good, by the way.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Thanks. You too.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Do you think we could get arrested from this?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Eames said and then took a deep breath. “But I’ve done some other stuff. I bet that if I get arrested, it’s not because of this.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah,” Arthur said, tugged his dick back in his trousers and stood up. He didn’t feel exactly steady but didn’t fall onto his face either. “I should probably try to get some sleep. It was nice to meet you, Eames.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really?” Eames asked. “No pillow talk?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Arthur said and bit his lip. “I like you already. It’s too late. Good night.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He didn’t wait for Eames to answer. He walked into his hotel room and closed the door.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>**</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>In the morning, he thought that maybe he would run into Eames on the hallway. Then he thought that maybe they’d see each other in the elevator. Or in the lobby. Or on the street. Or maybe they’d accidentally share a taxi.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But when he was finally at the warehouse where Dom and Mal were waiting for him, he had to admit that he wasn’t going to run into Eames. It was for the best, of course. He was here for the job. And he couldn’t manage a relationship right now. It would be absolutely crazy to start thinking that maybe, if he saw Eames again, they could change phone numbers and start dating and fall in love.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He took a deep breath and stopped at the door. He hadn’t slept much last night, but there was nothing new to that. He would focus on the work today and everything would go back to normal. Dom and Mal would never know that he had had sex with a stranger on the hotel room balcony. So to speak.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He opened the door and walked in.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eames was standing in the middle of the room.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Good morning, Arthur,” Mal said. “Here’s Eames, our forger.”</span>
</p>
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